Made in France c.late 19th century. This punching implement was made of cast aluminium, back when aluminium still had airs of nobility to it. It features the grotesque face of a man sticking his tongue out.
Hey, so I’m Milo, I’m 16 and live in France as you can see above. I’m
quite an introvert so sometimes I’m a bit awkward and I’m sorry about
Country doesn’t really matter to me but I’d like to meet an
English-speaking person so I can improve my English. I’m looking forward
to learn new languages too, any language really !
I like drawing and spending time on the Internet, and playing videogames even if I’m not really good at it.
I also enjoy The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit (yes, I’ve read the book
and still like the movies), Star Wars, Doctor Who (even if I’ve only
watched a few seasons, I’m trying to catch up), Sherlock, Stranger
Things, Over the Garden Wall and many other things. I’m open to discover
new shows, movies, books, everything.
I’d rather do Skype, Tumblr chat or mail, but maybe sometimes I can do snail mail.
Ah, yes, I’m pansexual and polysexual, and uh, still questionning my
gender identity (I know I’m not female as my XX chomosomes would like me
to be, but I’m still not sure whether I’m trans or agender, or
genderqueer), so please if you contact me, be LGBTQ+ friendly. I’m also
an atheist, but if you’re religious it’s absolutely not a problem, as
long as you respect my lack of religion of course
Preferences: I’d like to talk to anyone around my age,
so 15-25 is good to me. Otherwise gender, sexual/romantic orientation,
skin tone, country and religion doesn’t matter to me.
Manufactured in Great Britain, probably c.late 20th as an artificial French Lefaucheux-era curio. Probably 5mm pinfire, single shot, blued steel hammer spring wrapping around the silver-plated band. I love these guns about as much as they are useless.
A childhood rocked by World War II left Francis and Arthur each reeling
in their own way. Years later, they are still struggling to move forward
and form a future in post-war Europe. But as they fight to put
childhood demons aside, new problems continue to arise, and they are no
closer to knowing what their futures hold.
(Sequel to What About the Children?; can be independently read)
When Arthur J. Kirkland was 20 years old, he decided to go
to Paris. Why he chose Paris was unfathomable to the friends and family he
informed of this abrupt decision, but to him, it seemed the only suitable place
to work through the shadowy malaise gripping his brain.
reached an age where he was meant to know what he wanted to do with his life,
and in absence of that, be prepared to follow in his father’s footsteps. Two of
his older siblings were married already, and Daffyd had been working the same
job for three years now. Arthur had quit his position in the same brewery two
weeks ago, in preparation for his trip. If it would be there when he got back,
he didn’t know.
thing was, Arthur had no idea what he wanted to do with his life, and although
he had been of a young age when the war ended, he felt as mired in its bog as
his father, with his missing half a leg, and the others who had fought in it.
Every conversation still seemed to swing back around to the war, as if it hadn’t
been six years since its end. Six years! Every time he thought of it, he was
shocked anew. It had now been longer since the end of the war than it had
lasted, at least for Britain. Everyone was still picking up the worse-for-wear
bits of their lives and trying to reconstruct them into something manageable,
Arthur no less.
wretched business of it was that he couldn’t put a name to the foot-dragging
unease in his heart. He hated that—it was a feeling he couldn’t even
understand, let alone explain. His father had sat him down for a talk after he
quit his job, and he had utterly failed to give an accurate explanation of why
he had done it.
England: *phones starts ringing*
France: *leans over to see who it is*
France: lmao you still call your dad daddy?
England: *answers the call and makes direct eye contact with France*
England: hello Alfred.
France: *chokes on his wine*